


Piece of Faith

by BadassCompany



Series: The Things We Did (But Never Spoke Of) [3]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Angry Sex, Angst, Broken Hearts, Canon Compliant, Gay Sex, Helluvalot of Angst, Let It Bleed Coda, M/M, Porn with Feelings, Rough Sex, Smut, angsty smut, coda fic, destiel smut, handjobs, s6e21, season six, tragic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-20
Updated: 2016-12-20
Packaged: 2018-09-10 15:07:59
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,654
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8921851
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BadassCompany/pseuds/BadassCompany
Summary: What really happened the night Castiel came to Dean, begging him to stand down?"When our bare skin finally touched, him lying on top of me, I gasped. I couldn't help it. Touching him like this was the closest thing I could get to when I had held his soul between my hands. The fact we were hurting each other seemed such a small thing in the face of all we'd been through together and the pain inside of us."





	

**Author's Note:**

> Next update in the series! <3 Thank you all for your lovely reviews on the last one. I'm gonna be trying to upload a new one every day this week. (I wrote them all about six months ago and never got around to editing them.)

Soon after Sam's sacrifice, Dean ran into Lisa Braeden's arms, and all was forgotten. Or so I thought. I often wonder what would have happened if Sam hadn't made him promise to live 'the apple pie life', as they called it. What if I had told him I planned to stay on earth, stay by his side, instead of becoming heaven's new sheriff? Would I have claimed the shotgun seat in the Impala, comforted him through his grief?   
No. Instead that job fell to Lisa, a ten year old child, and a fridge with an endless supply of beers. I didn't, couldn't grudge him that choice. He was following through on the promise he'd made to his brother. I had removed myself from the picture, either because of my pride, or the silent fear he would rather be alone than with me. I didn't hate Lisa for it, either. She provided him comfort, a quiet feminine knowledge of how to kiss someone's bruises better. I would have had to tear him apart to make him whole again.   
We all knew, though. Surely we all knew. He wasn't really ever hers, how could he be, once he'd been mine?

No doubt that viewpoint was a childish one, but nevertheless, he never loved her. He loved Ben, of course. (I regretted erasing the child's memories, but he asked it of me, and so deep was I already in betrayal, I could not refuse.)

He prayed to me, while he was at that house with everything he always wanted. I don't think he meant to, but at times his longing for me was so palpable I could scarcely resist appearing before him. No. I would let him have his peace, and I would strike my devil's bargain.

 

It was close, so close to when it all fell down, when I came to him. I didn't intend to hand him a 'ransom note', as he put it. I didn't mean to drive Crowley's point home. I came to beg him for the trust I deserved. It broke me, standing there in the moonlight of Bobby Singer's living room, that he didn't trust me, after everything. Of course, I was wrong, and should have listened. That's beside the point. I thought, when I shattered, it must have been so apparent it was written all over my face. He was so lost in his own anger and misery he didn't notice. How had we gotten here, I asked myself? I knew, and it was a treacherous road I still couldn't believe led here.

 

_I always come when you call._

I had said all I could say, and it wasn't enough.

So had he.

 

I remembered that once, he made me hear beautiful words only with his hands. Had showed me more than I could bear to think of now, such pure pleasure he had coaxed out of me. I felt like I must be broken and bleeding somewhere inside, and it was in this state that those wondrous memories spurred me to grab a hold of his shoulders and kiss him roughly, desperate to make him understand. He stood stiffly as if deciding what to do, as I needily pressed myself against him, pleading with my body.

Dean shoved me away. All the breath went out of my body as I stared up at him in disbelief from the floor. He stared at me for a moment, and turned away. I thought he was going to leave me there then, a heap of heartbreak on the floor. But then, something in the curve of his shoulder and back melted, and he walked over to me. I gazed up, unsure whether he was going to hit me - which is probably what he thought I deserved - or scream at me to get out - which is what he should have done - or kiss me. Which is what I wanted. Tears glistened in our eyes, and he could scarcely meet mine. Then he knelt down by my side, and in a voice thick with everything he hated to feel, he said, "Damnit, Cas."

"I know," I said, clenching my throat to hold back a sob.

"This doesn't change anything, does it?" He asked, taking my hand from where it lay on the wood floor and running his thumb along its lines and hollows.

"No," I choked out. My hope that I could make him understand with my hands, my lips, left my body in one breath. He wouldn't trust me, and I wouldn't turn back. And yet, I still wanted him.

I think he could see the change, the hope leaving me, burning his own to ashes, and his tenderness vanished. He dropped my hands and straddled me, pushing me down on the floor and pinning my wrists. I didn't try to stop him, not when he stripped off my clothes barely touching me and his nails drew blood. I wanted everything he gave. Our kisses were hard and quick, teeth knocking together. He bruised my skin with the tightness of his grip, as if with his touch alone, he could stop me from leaving. I had missed his heat, the familiar smell of him. The fact we were hurting each other seemed such a small thing in the face of all we'd been through together and the pain inside of us.

I tore his clothes off. When our bare skin finally touched, him lying on top of me, I gasped. I couldn't help it. Touching him like this was the closest thing I could get to when I had held his soul between my hands.

His face twisted when I gasped, and he pinned me down and stopped me from touching him, like he couldn't bear any expression of tenderness from me. This, I thought, was within his rights. He fucked against me, thrusting his hard cock against mine. I closed my eyes against the pleasure, but also because I didn't want to see him like this. He was trying so hard not to let any of the feelings seep through. I had wanted this _because_ I wanted him to understand how I felt, but knowing it wouldn't change anything, he couldn't bear that. He was trying to make it something less than it was, something filthy and wrong, and like I was only there for his pleasure.

He failed. Though he tried, I could feel the pent up emotions in the taut muscles of his back, could see all he didn't want me to see in the shadows of his eyes. Nothing we did could ever be wrong or impure. He tried to hurt me, for all the ways I hurt him. He ground against me too hard, too fast, holding a finger to my lips and ordering me to be quiet. He didn't need to tell me, of course. He didn't want the others to know what we were doing and I didn't want them to know I was here. This moment in the night was our privacy, closeness even through the gulf between us.

Even when he bit me and clawed at me, he seemed unable to let it go without kissing away the pain or running his fingers lightly down the scratch marks, like he already wished he could take them away. In the end, he let up my hands, and I saw a tear sliding down his face. With one hand, I wiped it away, and with the other, I reached between us and clasped our dicks together, jerking us off. He bit his lip, and I saw blood form. Then he was himself again, not crying or trying to hurt me, but simply Dean. He wrapped his hand so it overlapped mine, and stroked in time. He tilted his head back, and I leaned forward, licking the blood off his lips. He sighed softly, and let me kiss him, deep and slow.

He had given himself over to me. Despite all his misgivings, the terrible contradicting emotions running round his head, his desire to save me from myself and the need to kick and scream at me for my betrayal - he had given himself to me for this night, and so I kissed him slowly, knowing I would be gone once it had ended.

I wondered then what it would be like if he whispered the words, ‘I love you,’ in my ear. His touches no longer spoke the words as clearly as I had heard them once. I thought, if he had said it then, I might have turned back. Turned everything upside down.

As it was, he said my name, low and hoarse and ragged. "Cas." I almost had to read it off his lips.

"Dean," I whispered, as my muscles contracted and bliss shot through me. He bit off a cry of his own and our cum mixed together as we shook in ecstasy.

He closed his eyes, and somehow that was enough for me to rend myself away. When he opened them, I was gone. I had had a brief whirlwind fantasy of staying there, clinging to him, saying I would stand down. In the end, though, neither of us would stand down. It wasn't in our nature. I took satisfaction, though, in one small fact. He could hurt me with his words, his actions, with a glance. He could hurt me merely by his absence. But this time, the one time he had _tried_ to hurt me, he couldn't. A man who had spent his whole life training to maim and kill. He could have trapped me, killed me, rejected me. He had tried to hide himself by shoving me on the wooden floor and leaving trails of blood across my skin. He couldn't. He couldn't hurt me, not like that. That was the one piece of faith I carried with me while I went on my way to crack open Purgatory.

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> Comments are the light of my life. <3


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